


A Heart Worth Breaking

by captain_cUmCuM



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood, Cum Eating, Death, Gay Sex, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Parent/Child Incest, Quentin Beck is a horrible man, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Rimming, Sexual Abuse, Smoking, Torture, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, all that good stuff, domestic abuse, dub-con, he gets what he deserves, it counts as hurt/comfort but there are a billion chapters of hurt and like one of comfort, kidnapping for money trope but make it a full length fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_cUmCuM/pseuds/captain_cUmCuM
Summary: Peter had never been a particularly rebellious child. He’d always done what his father told him to, rarely breaking the rules. If he did break the rules, the most he got was a stern talking to. He was generally well behaved, even in the ‘rebellious’ stages of his childhood. Mostly because he didn’t have a reason to act out. But, all good things must come to an end, and now he does.--Peter goes through a pre-college, totally-not-an-existential-crisis, teenage rebellion speedrun, thoroughly ruining his entire life in the process.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Tony Stark/Peter Parker, background Steve/Bucky
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. When The World's at Stake

Peter was woken up too early for a Saturday by the front door slamming. No kisses on the cheek, no Eggo waffle shoved into his mouth, no smell of bacon or eggs or coffee or any of the things his father had done to wake him up since he was conceived. He pulled on a shirt and walked out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Bucky?” he asked, eyeing the man tying his hair up into a ponytail.

“Yes, Peter?” the boy pouted, pulling the sticky note off the fridge.

“Where’d Daddy run off too?” Bucky sighed, checking the magazine in his gun before slipping it into his thigh holster.

“The boss had an early meeting, told me and Steve to take you out for breakfast.” Peter sighed. Reading the green, turtle-shaped, post-it that confirmed Bucky’s words. 

_ ‘Sorry, kid, early meeting. Tweedledee and Tweedledum will take you to Frank’s. Money’s on the automan. -Dad’ _

Peter crumpled up the note and tossed it into the bin, where it landed on a growing pile of rainbow-coloured, aquatic-animal-shaped, post-it notes. All of them said the same thing. Peter grumbled, making a pot of coffee.

“You can get that at Frank’s, you know. And it’s cheaper.” Peter straightened up the filter, rummaging through the cabinet for his dad’s good coffee.

“Yeah, cheaper, and _ weaker _. Coffee isn’t just a soupy mess you make from the first legume looking thing you touch. Coffee is a science. Coffee must be perfect. Coffee takes time and effort not just some shit you bought from Sainsbury’s and a cup of hot water. ” 

Bucky chuckled, tucking the flyaway hair that had fallen out of his ponytail during the strenuous work-out of putting on a bulletproof vest.

“You are just like your father.” Peter slammed the coffee grinder down a little too hard, making Bucky flinch.

“I am nothing like my father!” Peter growled, instantly regretting it with a look at the broken machine. “Sorry, Buck, it’s just--” Peter sniffed, taking a deep breath. God, holding in tears should be a sport. He’d be representing the United States in Olympics Japan: 2020 on their ‘Competitive Bottling Up Emotions’ team.

“It’s okay, Peter, I understand your dad’s been a little distant lately but his workload has been really large as of late. Soon, everything that needs to be handled will have been handled and you can spend more time together again.” Peter nodded, biting his tongue and thanking Bucky for his support.

“Though, I guess you’ll have to settle for Frank’s cheap, weak, inferior coffee since you broke the grinder.” Peter punched Bucky in the shoulder.

“Maybe I won’t have too, maybe we can use the biscuit money for a coffee grinder.”

<strike> ** _alpha_ ** </strike>

Turns out, after a quick thumb through of the money clip Peter’s father, no doubt, tossed from his pocket right onto the ottoman they didn’t have enough money for breakfast and a new, identical, coffee grinder. Seeing as the google image search Peter did landed him at _ MajestyCoffee.com --_which kind of sounded like a porn site but anything that starts with ‘majesty’ sounds like a porn site--showing him the exact coffee grinder that sat broken into three pieces in a Walmart bag: a Ditting KF1800. Which retails for...14 thousand dollars. So, yeah. He’d need to borrow at least 13 thousand more dollars if he was to buy a new one while they were out. He might have stolen his father’s credit card from the wallet he left sitting out on the island, but this was a matter of national security. The expensive coffee grinder was broken. The penthouse was on DEFCON 1 right now. 

"Steve! Buck! 'M ready to head out!" Peter called, pulling on one of his Dad's old flannels over his Queen shirt. Looking in the old hallway mirror, the washed-out blue didn't clash with the bleach stained black as much as he thought it would. 

_"Rule #32 Enjoy The Little Things,"_ Peter mumbled to himself, rounding the corner to see Bucky and Steve waiting quietly for him. He smiled nodding towards the front door, Bucky walked out before he did and Steve trailed not too close behind him. The walk to Frank’s Diner was a peaceful one, as it always was, but Peter couldn’t ignore the lump in his throat as sixteen years of going down this same street hit him fast enough to give him whiplash. Peter pushed them into the back of his mind, focusing instead on the wind whipping at his hair. At the glint of Bucky’s guns. Two on either side of his torso, one at his hip and one on his shoulder. Peter was sure he had more weapons stashed away in places God herself couldn’t even think up. Peter had tried asking him how many weapons he actually had but all he’d do was smirk and say _ “_

_As many as it takes to keep you safe, doll” _

Steve had told him he never left the house without less than twenty weapons but that raises the question of where they’re stored. 

By the time Peter had thought up at least three, _ PG _, places that Bucky could hide a weapon, the three of them were sitting in the bubblegum pink booths of Frank’s Diner. Peter sighed, pushing the newspaper-styled menu to the side. He’d been coming here since he could breathe and every time he ordered the same thing. Bucky waved over a waitress, reciting their order like he’d been doing every morning since his father started ignoring him. When the waitress set down his tan cup of coffee he grimaced but took a sip regardless. It was a quite dark roast, not as weak as he thought it would be. Dolores really outdid herself, perhaps she had a premonition that he’d demolish the coffee grinder and half to rely on them for his morning cup. It was certainly no Lavazza Kafa, but it was palatable. That was all that mattered. 

When Peter was halfway through his breakfast burger, he looked up at Steve and Bucky. 

“Can we go see a movie?” Bucky nodded. 

“Of course, what do you want to see? We’ll have Friday pull it up when we get back.” Peter shook his head, pushing his plate away. 

“No, I want to _ go and see a movie. _I don’t want to watch one at home!” Steve raised an eyebrow at his tone, swallowing his bite of food. 

“They don’t allow weapons in movie theatres and we need ours to keep you safe. We can get whatever movie you wanna see, okay?” Peter groaned, eyes hurting with the ferocity in which he rolled them. 

“I’m _ Tony Stark’s son! _If I want you to keep your weapons they’ll let you keep your weapons!” Steve wasn’t accepting this, Peter had one last lifeline to get him to bend and if he didn’t use it now he’d never get to stay out. 

“Please, _ Stevie _?” his bottom lip quivered, looking up at Steve with the biggest Bambi eyes he could muster. Steve tried, and failed, to deny him, his resolve crumbling as he stabbed into his omelette. 

“Fine, we can go see a movie.” Peter smiled triumphantly.

<strike> ** _beta_ ** </strike>

The movie Peter had chosen, Flies in The Skies, wasn’t too long, they got out around four. They even had enough time to head to a local store and buy a new coffee grinder, but Peter wasn’t ready to go home yet. An early meeting meant that Tony would be home earlier than usual and he wanted to get home after he did.

"Can we stay out for just a little longer? Eat ice cream and watch the sunset?" Steve took the kind of long inhale through his nose parent’s do when they know they shouldn’t spoil their kids but they don’t want to argue with them again.

"Sure," Steve sighed. Peter smiled, walking with a skip in his step to Central Park. Steve knew the responsible thing would be telling him no. That they had to go home before the sunset and it got darker, and thus more dangerous. But it wasn't his job to tell Peter no, despite his urges to do such, it was Tony's. His irrational urges to parent everyone could spare a cone of butter pecan swirl under a tree. It could spare seeing Peter happy. 

When they arrived at the penthouse, ice cream cones finished and the sun resting far below the treeline, Tony was pacing back and forth, yelling at an intern he thought he’d seen before. 

“I’m a fucking billionaire, Micheal, however much money it’s going to cost I can replenish and fill the dent in my bank account without lifting a finger.” Micheal! There we go, Peter had seen him on the R&D floors getting yelled at by someone else. _ Guess he wasn’t too good at his job, huh? _ Tony ran a hand through his hair before grabbing a tumbler of scotch and chugging it.

“Listen, you caused the problem now you fucking fix it, if the stocks drop because of you I’ll do worse than fire you. Understand?” The man nodded, clutching a clipboard to his chest in fear.

“Thank you, now get lost and stop wasting my time.” The man nodded, apologising profusely before weaselling into the elevator.

“Wow, Dad, if you don’t fire him I’m sure he’ll quit.” Tony turned to his son and smiled. 

“He quits, the company thrives. Honestly, I don’t know how he qualified for the internship program.”

“Pepper said he’s got _ charisma. _Though, Nick said he couldn’t operate machinery to save his life so maybe charisma isn’t all you need.” Tony chuckled and pulled Peter into a hug. Peter smiled softly into the soft fabric of Tony’s suit, rocking slowly in his father’s warm embrace. 

“Hey, sweetheart, can I ask you a question?” Peter hummed, nodding.

“What the fuck happened to my coffee grinder?” 

<strike> ** _gamma_ ** </strike>


	2. People Talk About You, People Say You've Had Your Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I just--ANGST

Over the next few weeks he woke up the exact same, to the front door slamming and a note on the fridge. Tony wasn’t home often, but he was home though, which was good, but everytime he was home he never actually had time for Peter. He’d always brush him off. Peter would walk in to ask him if he wanted to watch a movie or get take out but all he got was:

“Sorry, kid, not right now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”  
And then his father was on Do Not Disturb for hours. When he finished and finally decided to show Peter attention, it was well after midnight. This cycle repeated for three weeks and Peter was getting tired of it. Tired of getting stood up for Natalie in Legal. Tired of being neg--*ignored*. Though all his friends, and remote family, insisted it was neglect, Peter couldn't bring himself to call it that. It wasn't actually neglect, was it? He'd only stopped calling him cute pet names...And stopped waking him up in the mornings to see him off to school, and stopped going to Frank's for breakfast, and Tia Rosita's for lunch, or eating dinner with him, or Saturday Movie Nights, or...Okay. Peter was *kind of* starting to see why some people would *think* he was being neglected, but it really wasn't that deep! Or, at least he thought it wasn't that deep. Until his birthday rolled around and, when Peter expected to be woken up by his father's butterfly kisses and Birthday Pancakes, he was woken up by the door slamming and yelling. 

He jumped, throwing his comforter off his legs and running out of the door into the hallway. It was clearly his father yelling but there was a voice he didn't quite recognise. 

"You're hurting him, Tony! I know you don't realise it, but you're hurting him!"

"I'm not going to rearrange my entire schedule for *some kid*! He's almost an adult, he can handle a little alone time!" Peter's throat burned, tears welling in his eyes. 

"Some kid? Is that all I am to you?" Tony turned to look at him, eyes wide.

"Peter, you know that's not what I meant--"

"*Do I*? Do I *really* know? For a long time I've felt like I've 'known' a lot of things in life but apparently...Apparently I was wrong." Peter turned on his heel, storming down the hall. Tony called after him, but he didn’t stop. He slammed the door shut and sobbed, falling down onto his knees. Maybe he should’ve believed it when everyone told him his father was neglectful, but...That was beyond neglectful.  
*Some kid. *

He knew he was a surprise, left on the porch by his mother but he never thought that--that his father didn’t *want him*. But that couldn’t be right! If his father didn’t want him then why would he try so hard to keep him safe? Why wouldn’t he just put him up for adoption.  
*He probably wouldn’t be able to stand the guilt of leaving me to starve.* 

Peter wiped his eyes, he didn’t think he’d ever felt this much hurt in his life. He couldn’t believe that his father would say something like that.  
A soft knock on his door pulled him out of his pit of sadness. 

“Who is it?” Peter had a feeling he knew it was.

“It’s Dad,”

“*Is it*?” Peter regretted it the second the words left his mouth, full of rage and spite. He didn’t hate his father, he could never hate his father, he just hated himself for not being good enough for his love.

“Peter, baby, angel, darling, sweetheart, open the door? Please?” Peter sighed, hoisting himself up and opening the door. His eyes were red and puffy, the tip of his nose was pink and blushed, and the skin of his cheeks were patchy and irritated from the salt of his tears. It was a sight Tony hated to see and despised being the cause of. 

“I brought you an apology cheesecake.” Peter took the cheese cake. Strawberry sauce spelling out 'I’m Sorry'. 

“I shouldn’t have said that, Peter, and I know apology cheesecake isn't really gonna cut it, but I really am sorry. I can't justify what I said, I encourage you to hate me, I was wrong. I was upset and mad but that doesn't justify it. I'm sorry. Will you accept my cheesecake? And an apology trip to Coney Island?” 

Peter smiled, he hadn’t been on an apology trip to Coney Island since he was six. But this wasn’t the same thing as missing Career Day at school. Peter handed him back the cheesecake. 

“Maybe they were right. Maybe you can’t cut it as a father.”

***alpha***

Peter wanted to find his father and apologise but he was sure he’d left hours ago. Every time Peter tried to curl in a ball and yell at himself for being a horrible person that one line from Fixer Upper comes into his head, *People make bad choices when they’re mad or scared or stressed*, and Peter was definitely all of the above. 

“Doesn’t excuse what you did,” he mumbled, wishing he had the power to turn back time. He was right, though. Being pissed because his father basically said he wasn’t his son doesn’t give him an excuse to say he was a horrible father. Or maybe it did. Honestly, Peter didn’t know what to think or who to blame.  
He slowly pulled on a change of clothes, just a pair of bleached denim shorts and a fluffy sweater, deciding that leaving was the best thing for him to do. If he left he could hurt anyone anymore. Not his dad, not himself. Nobody. With enough money for a bus ride to his Aunt's, a change of clothes, and his phone, he left.

***beta***

Tony knocked on Peter's door. He wasn't expecting him to answer. He was expecting him to curse and scream and tell him to go away. What he wasn't expecting, however, was silence. He knocked again and still no answer.

"Come on, hon, don't give me the silent treatment." Still nothing. Tony sighed, grabbing the door knob and turning it. It was unlocked. Fear set it's heavy weight on his chest, pushing all the air out of his lungs and stopping his heart in the process. Door unlocked, Peter was gone. Peter was gone.  
Peter was gone. And the window was open.  
Tony's whole body was shaking. 

"F--uhm--Friday? Where's Peter?"

"He's gone." Tony bit his lip, trying to keep himself from either lashing out, having a panic attack, or crying. 

"Yeah, that's obvious. Gone to *where*?"

"Peter did not disclose to me his destination." Tony grabbed his shirt, the fabric snagging on the rough metal of his arc reactor as his fingers dragged it across it.

"Get--Get--Get his location from the tracker in his phone. Call--Call Bucky or--or St--Steve." 

"You removed the tracker from his phone six months ago, sir and Bucky and Steve are both still in the tower. Do you still wish for me to call them?" 

Tony could barely hear anything over his own heart pounding against his ribcage, like it was trying to break free. 

"*This is all my fault*." He chided himself. 

"*I shouldn't of said that, I shouldn't have tried to get him to forgive me with a goddamn cheesecake*."

"Sir, your heart rate is rising to an unhealthy level. It appears you are having a panic attack."

"That's because I am goddammit! My son is gone without protection! He could and the last thing--" Tony cut himself off with a choked out sob. 

"--The last thing we did was argue." 

*Maybe they were right. Maybe you can't cut it as a father.*

***gamma***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops guess chapter 2 is angst¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. I mean, this whole book is 99.9% hurt .1% comfort. Sorry for updating late, I procrastinated for 6 and ½ years. But I'll see you guys at the scheduled time. 5pm BST April 29th 💜💛 
> 
> (also my lap top is broken so I'm being forced to use my phone until it gets fixed. That's why everything that would be in italics is in asterisks.)


	3. Floating Around On Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Not Suitable For All Audiences)  
Contains: Underage Drinking, Use of Common Date Rape Drugs

May hadn't been the best help when it came to giving advice, obviously, given the fact that here Peter was, in some of her old 'rebel' clothes, and the instructions to 'stick it to him'. Again, great at comforting, shit at advice. He's honestly glad she doesn't have any kids.   
He hadn't the slightest clue how to 'Stick It To Him', the 'him' being his father.   
He knew that he was supposed to rebel, but he didn't know how to do _that_.   
He'd never been so uncertain of anything in his life. All he wanted to do was go home and talk things out with his dad, it felt like the right thing to do, but Peter was very impressionable and _very_ naive, and May said this was the best thing to do.   
  
So, to hell with it!   
  
He'd already left the house without one of Tony's goons which is, to his father, a cardinal sin. He could steal money, May said that was what _she_ did to _her_ father when she rebelled. Steal money, get hammered, destroy public property.   
He was better than that, though. Better than stealing money out of petty spite because of one_ measly_ dispute. In all honesty, he wasn't even that mad about it anymore, he was still pissed he thought he could apologise with a fucking _cheesecake_ though. It had been their way of apologising to each other Peter's entire life, to give him the benefit of the doubt. All of this was too much to decide on, too important, he'd have to mull it over. Think about it.

<strike> _ **alpha ** _ </strike>

He'd thought about it for ten minutes, got scared by a pigeon, fell on his ass, saw a quarter, flipped it, turned out he _wasn't_ better than stealing money. Heads go home, tails steal money and get drunk, he got tails and 50 bucks fresh from his Daddy's bank account. It'd barely made a dent, he was sure Tony wouldn't mind too much. He wasn't surprised, in all honesty, by the sheer amount of pettiness his body could hold.

He actually reevaluated his decisions on the way to a local hole-in-the-wall. Not his decisions on stealing money, all the voices in his head had unanimously agreed on that, he was reconsidering if 50 bucks was enough to stop by a Burger King. He hadn't eaten before he left May's apartment, her leather pants were too tight at the moment anyway, and he was starving. He decided it wasn't enough and stole--_borrowed_, let's say borrowed--another hundred bucks. Now 150 bucks richer, and on his way to get drunk and eat a cheeseburger, he was certain this was the right decision.

<strike> _ **beta ** _ </strike>

This was a _horrible decision_. As much genius as he had, upon drinking three pints of Guinness and an old fashioned he hadn't realised what damage that would do with_ zero_ food on his stomach. Face warm and stomach growling, he politely slurred for an extra-large plate of onion rings. Ate one hot from the fryer, burnt his tongue on it, and then ate one right after, all memory of burning his tongue on the previous one wiped clean. Peter laid his head on his shoulder, giggling to himself about how the stain on the hardwood floor looked _exactly_ like Joe Pesci and scarfing down his plate of onion rings. He ordered another Guinness, movements lagged from alcohol. Two cups were sat down in front of his face and he picked his head up, raising an eyebrow. He stared at the glass of clear liquid in front of him sceptically.

  
"no bubblies," he mumbled, poking the cup to see how it reacted. He looked up at the bartender.

"is'is vodka? sir, i'inint order no voka." The bartender chuckled, slowly shaking a cocktail and turning to Peter.

  
"It isn't vodka, kid." Peter leaned forward, smelling it cautiously.

" 'sit gin?" The bartender shook his head, smiling and tucking a hair behind his ear.

  
"It's water, babe, by the looks of it you need some." Peter's lips pulled into a delicate little 'o', dark purple from the lipstick May put on him.

  
"Thank you Mr Bartender!" He smiled, downing half the cup in one go. His face scrunched up after he set the glass down, turning to his beer with a mumbled _'tastes kinda salty'_.

"Please, call me _Quentin_." Peter smiled, _how nice._

" 'm peber" He finished it with a lopsided smile. Quentin chuckled, refilling his water cup.

"Well, _Peber_, it's a pleasure to meet you."

<strike> _ **gamma ** _ </strike>

“ ‘re you sure this is a good idea, ‘cause, I haven’ made a lot of good ideas in a while an’ my heads all fuzzy an’--”

“I’m 100% positive nothing bad will happen.” Peter shrugged, resting his head on Quentin’s shoulder with a groan and a hiccup.

“I think--_hic_\--I think there was somethin’ in ma drin’,” Peter slurred, pressing his lips to Quentin’s neck. His whole body was hot, _scolding_, like he had a fever.

“Quentin I--I think someone put something in my drink, I don’--I don’ feel so good.” Quentin set Peter down on his couch, pulling off his shoes.

“Peter, that’s nonsense, the only person that was working the bar last night was me.” He had a point, plus, Quentin didn’t seem like the kind of guy to spike a drink. He wasn’t a crazy rapist, he was a quirky bartender.

“Bu’--bu I don’t feel _drunk_, Quentin, I feel _weird_, I feel _hot_. I feel...I feel...Like I wanna cheeseburger,” Quentin smiled, stopping halfway through taking his shorts off.

“You want a cheeseburger?” Peter nodded, kicking his foot against the side of the couch. Quentin pressed his hand to Peter’s forehead.

“No fever, but take it easy, I’ll get you a cheeseburger. Don’t. Move.” Peter nodded, pulling his lip between his teeth as he shimmied the rest of the way out of his shirt; huffing as he laid against the cool leather of Quentin's couch in nothing but fishnets and underwear.

_ "I think someone put somethin' in my drink,"_ he whispered, watching as his vision doubled and blurred.

_" 'm really sleepy." _

<strike> _ **delta** _ </strike>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1096 words in total] sorry this is so late, and short, but I am going to put out 4-6 too so, look forward to that. 😅 rejoice! the first actual spotting of Quentin in the spiderio fic! lol I hope you don't mind the lateness. stay moist, i love you, and, per usual, always wear your seat belt :)


	4. This is Okay, I Can be Alone With my Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short blip of how Tony's handling life.  
(spoiler: Not Good)

Two days. Peter had been gone for two days. He wouldn't check his phone, no one's seen him. Not even _May_ has seen him. He _always_ goes to May when something's up and she hasn't heard from him. He feared he'd been kidnapped, that ransom video would show up in his email or broadcasted onto his TV.

He'd started smoking again, started drinking again, he was falling apart at the seams.   
He didn't have enough fingers to count the number of panic attacks he'd had.   
This was all his fault.   
It was stupid.   
It was so stupid, _he_ was so stupid and now, for all he knows, his son could be tied up in some basement. His precious baby, his angel, tied up and crying in pain as some gangster beat him for answers.

Answers he didn't have.

He swore on Maya's death bed he wouldn't tell Peter _anything_ about his work. He swore to her, to _himself_, he'd know Stark Industries and that was it. The public had barely even an inkling of an idea who Peter was and that was what he wanted.

That's what he _thought_ he wanted. But now? He isn't sure. For all he knows, Peter could be bleeding to death all because he doesn't know where Samson's crate is, doesn't even know who _Samson_ is.

He wouldn't eat, only moved to pace and ask Pepper if he'd heard anything.

"I told you, Tony, I told you."

Tony groaned, hungover and still pumping his body full of alcohol.

"Please, Pep, spare me the rant? I've had enough already."

Tony rubbed his eyes, sore from crying.

"There was an unauthorised withdrawal from your personal account," Pepper said, sliding a holoscreen over to Tony.

"150. Peter's the only person who has access to this account, does that mean he's okay?"

Tony's eyes welled with tears at the thought of Peter being anything other than dead.

"Maybe, it was drawn out in cash, which means he went to a bank or ATM."

Tony leaned over Pepper's shoulder.

"Can you locate the ATM? Is that possible?"

Pepper snorted.

"Of course it is."

Tony sniffed. He was getting his boy back. And he was never going to let him go again.

_Oh, I hope he isn't hurt._

<strike> _ **alpha** _ </strike>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorty mcshorty pants, i know. but it's intentional, not half assed. 5's got sex in it 😳😉

**Author's Note:**

> HI! I hope you liked it, I'm really trying to write something different. Comments are encouraged! Let me know what you think, but please, keep it civil. I am going to try and update every other Wednesday at 7pm BST.


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